The Circumstances of Eventuality
by UNKNOWNYMUSE
Summary: Once upon another time, they would live a life with myriad possibilities of their destiny for them to fall in love in every ways as rendering the games of the Moirai." Strictly E/C. A countless retelling of their heartfelt tales. T for REASONS.
1. Chapter 1

The Red String of Fate.

She sighed, heavily and longingly; as she sat on a lonely chair with a small, lonely, rounded table. Her companion was her expected, lonely self.

People past by her, either it was of ignorance or her uncanny powers of blending in the farthest corner of the establishment.

She was in her usual seat, during weekends, with precise timing. Weekends were her day-off, she would've go to The Cafe (The store's self-explanatory name) and order a chocolate mocha, strawberry frappe and a single platter consisting of hot brioches.

Then she would sit on her destined chair before opening one of Austen's novel in exact 5:00 of the evening.

Her life was monotonous, per se.

Today was entirely different.

She opened her book at 6.

She had met her long time childhood friend, Raoul, earlier and he insists on grabbing a couple of sandwich, his treat, and the two had talked for seemingly an hour.

She was more than glad to reminisce their past of childhood memories and her unforgotten red scarf.

By the time she took notice of her lateness, they exchange their numbers and promises to call.

She scampered to her favorite, usual hangout, The Cafe, and once her faithful server saw her coming, he made her all time favorite comestibles.

She made her way to the dark corner.

She never did like people staring at her, yet she likes staring at them and their fated ones.

It was like their fortunate threads screamed at her for her solitude, making her very different from the others or simply call it as 'Not fitting in.'

Christine has an usual gift.

It was very unique and tough at the same time. She couldn't even tell anyone, not even her best friend, Meg. They would think her crazy, if she merely pointed out their destined lovers.

She called it the 'Sight'.

When she was very little and too naive for her understanding, Little Christine blurted out to her dear mother and father that there was a red, peculiar lining around their little fingers and both ends leading to her beloved parents.

They smiled and told her the story of the magical, invisible Red thread. She was sure they didn't believe her then, because in the end they told her it was just a story, a romantic myth, a legendary proverb of an old Chinese man.

God bless their souls, they're mighty wrong. It is undeniably legit or to a certain extent that she wasn't just seeing these strings because she's gone bonkers. Fate is real, poverty is real, destiny is real, JK Rowling is real and menstruation is damned real!

As she grew older, She was surrounded by their blinding lights as people stepped on it and unknowingly dragged it from their pinkies. They couldn't possibly know that whatever little they do-Fate already have designed their lives. Whether you take this cab instead of walking home; or you went out with your girlfriends to this new bar than spending your Friday night, alone and watching reruns of Veronica Mars; or you decided to cheat on your midterm exam. Everything you do is already systematic, planned out and unavoidable -it's just a matter of _when_ you do it.

Christine felt sorry for the people who haven't met their significant others. She once witnessed a girl who was passing by this guy with his girlfriend. Christine wanted to yell at them, the girl was the fated one, not his current girlfriend!

Sometimes her sight led to her headaches. It was frustratingly horrible to see many glowing strings crying out for attention- _mainly-_ her attention, forasmuch as she understood behind of **so** many misled destinies; caused of breakups, divorces and broken hearts. still, the rules of The red string of fate are that regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break.

Christine sipped the glorious taste of her drink while staring at the long threads on the floor, customers stepping them idly and unintentionally.

She once stared at her own string and followed it, but it was tangled by the mess of others, and she lost track of her own. Besides, it would be tragic if they saw her strangely looking at her hand and following something they couldn't see.

In her childhood days, she often wondered if she and Raoul would be a couple someday. She played a role of a fairy princess and him her gallant warrior prince, both lived happily ever after, so why not in real life? however, his string was leading to a another direction, not hers.

Her parents were destined; she would stop whatever she's doing and deeply think if the other half of her line would come to her. She accepted that it was no use to locate her destiny but to just wait.

She was now 24 years old. She's never had any boyfriends nor dates, she was waiting for him to come and save her from her solitude before she turns out to be a spinster...

Suddenly, a bright glow caught her eyes as her server bumped onto a girl, her drink was spilled on her former white tee and he kept apologizing while handling her a handful of tissues.

Christine widely smiled, they are fated.

Yet shook her head at their first grand meeting.

She decided to stop her conspicuous observing and turn her attention to a certain page of her book. _'I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you-especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightl-'_

"Excuse me?" a very deep voice and a forced cough tingled her ears. She didn't look at the convict but instead listened. "Miss? You are on my seat." he politely said but something in his tone was a bit demanding.

Christine scoffed, refusing to look at him, "You bought it?" no reply from him, "Then it's not yours to claim. I am sitting here." she proceeds to read the interrupted passage, _Where was I? ah-_ '- _tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the correspondi-_ '

His voice was a faint, "But why?"

 _Could he not see that I'm reading and enjoying my isolation?_ "I don't like to be seen and the prospect of standing is much too tedious, don't you think? Is there any problem?"

"Why wouldn't you not want to be seen? you're.. -never mind. This is my usual seat, and I take refuge from this corner, consider this _please_." she almost shivered from his angelic voice. Never had someone to almost beg just for a chair...

She closed her book and rested it on the table. "Look, I need-" Her head settled to his way, her eyes wide welcoming her interest and curiosity. So that's _why_.

Despite the stranger cowering in the dark, she could plainly see the other side of his face was covered in something of the color white, and the giveaway of his golden eyes glow, staring at her too. He carried a sensuous air of allusion, there's a massive amount of secrecy to him that makes her want to unravel him. Her cheeks had flushed when she notices they were staring for far too long.

She breathed, "Okay." Maybe this was his hiding spot for his own time. She was rather behind schedule, She struggled for her bag and her coffee. Christine slowly walked to the direction of the door when she mentally slapped herself.

 _Of all the things I must forget!_

She strides to her previous corner and saw his periphery standing and a outstretched hand with the paperback. She whispered a thank you before her hands lightly touched his when she reached for her adored book. The light magnetic tension between that miniscule touch blew her senses and caught herself staring like a fool; out of the corners of her eyes, she glimpses a strong glow below.

Her instant urge was to look quizzically at his now shining pinkie with his own little string.

She gasped loudly, earning his widely confuse facial expression. He must've thought her lunatic, her gasping at nothing. She can't blame him though, she's odd herself and what makes it double that she _can_ see the threads around them, and theirs, whereas nobody could.

She didn't let his left hand go, his thread was completely connected to hers as clearly as the intricate snowflake on the very first set of winter.

Maybe this day was truly different from the others. This was not just a mild concurrence of Raoul intervening her supposed schedule, the server's fault; and him having to acquaint with his destined, Christine reading the passage of Jane Eyre but was cut off by a strange, cunning fellow; who turns out to be her significant other half, her soul mate!

It was all too surprising as well as fascinating to her.

Just a slight interference will definitely alter the boring life you live into a surprising one...

 _We are all evermore interwoven to meet._

And she'll definitely come back tomorrow with her new time schedule.

* * *

 **UKNOWNYMUSE:**

 **Hello, I just want to explain that this Phanfic is NOT a full story. It contains AU's, Modern Settings, Medieval Times, Gaston Leroux's Era, Myths, Supernaturals and other unworldly weirdness of my mind.**

 **I OWN NOTHING BUT THIS STORY.**

 **AND** **IF** **I OWN THEM, SURELY YOU'RE NOT THAT MAD TO EVEN THINK OF IT, OTHERWISE I'M AS OLD AS THE GREAT GASTON LEROUX. OR I'M A SPARKLING VAMPIRE TO ACTUALLY LIVE FOR SO LONG**

 **￣へ￣** **BE RATIONAL, GUYS.**

 **SOME DESCRIPTIONS AND REFERENCES OF THE CHARACTERS ARE FROM:**

 **GASTON LEROUX's PHANTOM OF THE OPERA,**

 **ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER's musical of POTO & LND,**

 **SUSAN KAY's THE PHANTOM.**

 **WHATEVER SUITS YOUR IMAGINATION.**

 **THEIR SURNAMES MIGHT NOT BE CANON ONES. I WOULD LIKE TO NOT REPEAT ANY SURNAMES FOR IT MAY CONFUSE YOU TO THEIR PERSONAS. BECAUSE EVERY CHAPTER IS DIFFERENT.**

 **PS.**

 **EVERY CHAPTER IS THEIR** _ **OTHER**_ **LIFE. (e.g. If Erik is a talented, genius, disfigured man in this chapter,**

 **then he shall be a talented, genius, NORMAL looking man in the other. But him being a handsome looking man would be boring no?)**

 **EVERY CHAPTER IS UNIQUE. 221B BAKER ST!**


	2. Chapter 2

Wrong Number.

His feet had left many dew waters on his shining mahogany floor and the irritable part was that he only shined them earlier, deeply irritated him. Not that he couldn't afford servants or maids; he was very _emotional_ upon having them to have the pleasure of grazing his properties. Besides, he didn't have the tolerance of them asking and pointing about the face behind the mask.

His left hand was clutching his towel on his torso, revealing his wet, scarred body and his showy physique. The other hand was keeping out the insufferable soaked strands of hair out of his sight.

He loudly cursed himself for having a large place without any attendee or servants to pick up the damned phone.

The sound of its hellish scream echoed throughout his hallway and to his bathroom. While he'd enjoyed Bach's symphonies, the phone kept interjecting unpleasantly. The price of living alone in luxury was tough as it gets.

"Hold on, I'm here!" he scorned at the insufferable technology.

He was a man of inexplicably taste, or in what his comrade called of 'Old-Fashioned'.

He loathed any advanced mechanisms but ironically he owned them (Except for the answering machine) his dear Persian friend often reminded him to get 'Evolutionized' or so he said.

And now he slightly regret for not buying a thousand of Answering Machine just to notify the caller that he was busy with his bath!

He dreaded the new version of his Telephone, mainly because it was appeasing to his eyes (He was likely besotted by the design) yet its harsh sound thought it to be demon-made.

He picked up the damned thing with clammy fingers, brushing his hand on his towel and balancing it on his shoulder. "HELLO?" His voice was gruff and he wanted to yell at this person for ruining his nice, heated bath.

Who calls 2 in the morning?

Well, he shouldn't judge the caller though, He's the one bathing 2 in the morning.

There was a little hesitation, then a faint sigh, "Hi? Uh... sorry for the late call, but I was wondering if I could pass my report on administration office told me to at least have a word for you for advices that I might require. The last stock meeting was sporadic in cases of stability-"

What the hell is she jabbering about?

He listened to her unknown excuses and was genuinely listening to her soft, pretty voice; but his head was still perplexed.

Here he was; nearly naked, dripping wet and a slippery towel barely covering his hips.

He didn't even know this random girl.

"Miss?" he cut her off as simple as that, "What, per say, Are you exactly telling me?"

"About my explanations on why I'll have to procrastinate my output on the designs? I know it is very informal for me to ask you this, but I do have certain problems that I do not wish to explain more, but Mr. Kahn, I-"

" **KAHN?** You thought I was Nadir Kahn?" he asked, scoffing loudly than he intended to be.

"Aren't you?" he clearly heard her sarcasm. She thoroughly thinks he's messing with her; well, he's not. He's dead serious about his disrupted bath.

The Persian might be his friend (Only friend) he did NOT want to compare his voice to his.

He's guessing this is her first call, not realizing the person.

"I am not."

Then there was silence.

"Are you sure?"

" _Yes_." he can't help to sound wryly brusque.

After her exclusive sighing, "Oh." the trembling voice was audible, "That explains the unfamiliarity on your voice, heh... oh- uh-I'm sorry! He gave me this number the other day. I-uh...He said if I have any matters to discuss I shall have to phone him. I guess he might have gave me the wrong number or I've...accidentally dialed the wrong number. I'm sorry!" she was attempting to end the call so that her embarrassment could bury her with shame.

His velvet voice interjected her mission to abort, "Hold on, Are you one of his delegates?"

This wasn't an accident. He knew his Friend gave him his number on purpose. Nadir wouldn't put him to sheer liability by _accidentally giving_ his number to somebody of no importance and Nadir once complained in agitation of his friend's antisocial-ness.

 _Oh, dear friend, you shall get what you deserve..._

She nodded, only to slap herself for her senseless stupidity, "Y-Yes."

"Whatever he's making you to finish, stop it. Whatever assignments end it. Projects, cancel it, okay?"

The involuntary gasp was clearly phonetic, "No! Uh-That won't be necessary...it's _my_ job and I can't screw this up. And who are you to tell me this, by the way?"

He chuckled, giving her shivers on her neck.

"I am Erik Destler. Do you perhaps know the name, milady?"

"You're kidding."

He scoffed, "Why would I?"

"Because I haven't seen or heard Mr. Destler, personally. Whatever you're pulling off isn't going to work. The world is a dangerous place with conniving fools, why should I listen to you? You should be ashamed of posing as great as him."

He was somehow astounded.

This girl doubted him? Of course, he would too if somebody's forcing him to put a halt to his job. This girl deserves recognition for telling the fact of how the world as it is.

"Very correct. I am well pleased by your boldness, however, one point deduction was you're the first to call, whereas, how would I trick you when I do not know anything about you? I can assure you that I am Erik Destler. I know you still wouldn't believe me, and good thing my company uses a secret method to know its loyal workers with a password. Leroux. Isn't that it? If you still doubted me, you say you're a delegate of my _friend_ , Nadir, knowing him, he would tell a story of his adventures searching for a talented boy who could do so many things beyond credence? I know he completely trusts you because he would never give this number, yes, it wasn't just an unmistakably coincidence, and him telling that tale means you've gain his unattainable trust. However, do you know what else? He missed out a very important detail; he never told you who it was. I am the boy. I am Erik Leroux Destler."

He didn't know why he suddenly revealed to her his deep secret. Maybe it's the way her euphemistic voice spoke, or maybe to gain her trust by unfolding _**some**_ truth on his dark past.

An odd silence after that. (At least to her side)

While the grimly side of his face was truly deformed, that doesn't mean his senses should too and it did good to him having clear eyesight and acute hearing.

Erik heard her curse under her breath.

And it was not ladylike.

He gave her time to compose herself from her own revelry. He leaned in to his wall and wondering if he might die of pneumonia right there and then. Nadir rarely visits, and when he did, Erik's body might have been rotten and bony.

"I understand sir, I do appreciate my time there and I guess I'll pick my things tomorrow." Her words were brave yet he couldn't understand the significant.

"What are you talking about?"

She sighed, the pompous man was mocking her, " _Sir,_ I understand full well the idea of new unemployment and I-"

"You thought I was firing you?"

"Isn't it?"

He expressed a heavy exhale of breath, "Mademoiselle, you must stop the antithetical assumptions. It is a bad habit, and habits do die hard, trust me. And I was merely suggesting to abort any task that had given to you because you are no longer in his command. I'm putting you to my side; you office people called it 'Raise' and consider it done. But of course, if that is what you want?"

Either it was a joyful gasp or a serious yell of delight, he didn't know, at least the other line was glad, "OH MY GOSH! I don't know what to say! Thank you! I did not expected it. I'll surely try my very best and I won't let you down!"

Somehow her merriness affected him; a rare smile formed his lips. "I trust that you won't disappoint me. Whenever you're free from your _certain problems_ , you'll go up to the 20th floor and you'll find the receptionist, Miss Giry, and say your name...-wait, what is your name?"

"Daaé, Christine Daaé."

"So you're _the_ Christine Daaé. The one had greatly pursued the unshakable Mr. Choi to share his investments. Nicely done, Christine. I now know why my Persian friend have made you his favorite and rudely keeping you to himself. See? More reason to welcome you into my profession."

Christine can hardly believe it all.

Maybe she was dreaming.

But his voice sounds so real, yet surreal at the same manner. No denying that he sounds breathtaking.

This was the founder of her job's company and he's giving her the tutelage under his advices! She'll definitely learn more.

She haven't seen the man, her former patron Mr. Kahn, told her that he doesn't want to be bothered, and was a private man, but hearing many other stories of him, either biased or the truth.

 _They say he was a demon turned human, yet his amorphous face remained..._

She didn't know and she sure doesn't want to judge him solely by those nasty gossips.

"Thank you, Mr. Destler. You don't know how happy I am with the preposition. You must excuse me of how I've reacted... it's just that this job is really important to me."

"No harm done, Miss Daaé."

"And I'm very sorry for the disruption. You must be sleeping in this time of the night."

He grinned to himself, looking at his nearly exposed body, "Hardly. You sound weary, yes? You should slumber now, dear, considering in this hour, women should take their beauty rest, yes?"

"I guess so. Thank you again and I'm very sorry! Goodnight and Good morning, Mr. Destler." he heard her stifle a yawn.

"Goodnight and Good morning too, Christine." he didn't put the phone down, for a wholly strange reason he likes to hear her again. Maybe the effects of pneumonia was already taking over his brain.

Then a soft, shy giggle had escaped her lips, "Oh Mr. Destler? You have a very, _very_ beautiful voice." then the line went out.

Erik was stupefied.

It took him minutes to regain his comprehension and attempt to show his sly smile, even though she couldn't see it. So, it's not just him observing her voice, she was too, but at him.

 _Yes, you are right Christine._

 _And you have a beautiful voice too._

This phone call had been a different turn of conversation. And he frankly admitted to himself that talking to Christine Daaé wasn't a bad idea. He would give Nadir some sort of castigate and recognition.

He puts the phone down and whistled a tune from Vivaldi.

And by all odds, he'll call her later.


	3. Chapter 3

**UKNOWNYMUSE:**

 **WARNING! A LOT OF SWEARING FROM OUR INNOCENT, LITTLE MISS DAAÉ. A HEADS UP, Just in case you feel insulted...**

* * *

Best Friends.

The loud bang of the door made his head swivel to its disturbed direction.

He let his fingers stopped in front of the piano, making no sound and listening to a heavy marching.

Wait!

How did she got here?!

He attentively squinted his eyes if his sight was deceiving him, tormenting him. Maybe a year of his desolation was now robbing him of his sanity, _it can't be..._

Her hair was disheveled and unkempt; she's still looked more beautiful.

Her piercing gaze was something he would die for; he was willing to end his days just to see her eyes.

But her frown, it did not suited her, yes, it did not. It was destroying her image, her loveliness.

He now rubbed his eyes by his clenched fist, testing if her divine form was true and not just his figment of his derangement. The phosphenes tingled his eyes, yet she glowed more.

 _She looked so angry._

 _And confuse._

She was more of an Amazonian today.

Yet still an ethereal Angel to his amber eyes.

He stands up, shoulders broad and stood tall. His eyes never leaving hers. _She_ _ **is**_ _real; I'm still not to the point of delusional thoughts. That is better, Erik, much better._

Although he didn't expect her to come, didn't expect she'll visit him after what he'd done and of all those months.

She stomped right before facing him and cutting him off before he could greet her with his gentility. She held her index finger up and pointed at his chest, "You," it was but a vehement. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she let her accusing finger balled up to a fist, "Why did you do it? Why? Why are you like this? Why can't you tell me the truth?!"

He focused on the ground but heard her questions with bane as they land directly at him.

He utters no words and expresses no emotions.

His eyes found interest in the floor.

She groaned in frustration, the anger building up more to a higher level.

It was dark; the only lights were the dimly lit candles around the candelabra. He didn't like using lanterns or bulbs, he'd much rather prefer candles, it relaxes him. Soothing his inner demons before it controls him.

However, her surprise visit did lighten up his shadowed place.

His keen ears heard a sound that wasn't supposed to live, not by hers anyway. His head jerked up and saw exactly that would really melt his heart; She was crying.

"Oh, Christine." He wanted to go and cradle her to his arms and simply never let go.

Her arms fluttered wildly and kept her distance away from him. His heart had broke by her bare action. "Don't!" she hissed.

Guilt was coming for him. Little by little until it overcomes his entire being.

She clenched her fist and aimed at the middle of his chest like a dart and the bull's eye.

It didn't hurt him. It did hurt when her tears had increased. "Why did you do that?" she was deeply shattered.

"Why did you left? Erik, why?! I haven't heard from you, like what? A YEAR?! You were supposed to watch me with my recital last MONTH!" she jabbed her finger at him, with unlikely force, "You were supposed to scream at me because I couldn't reach the high notes!" jabbed, "You were supposed to threaten Raoul when he asked me to prom!" jabbed, "You were supposed to stare at me while I ate my taco after practices!" jabbed, "You were supposed to accompany me to our Friday movie marathon!" jabbed, "You were supposed to be there when the times I feel like shit!" jabbed.

She screeched with disappointment and frustration, "You were supposed to be my best fucking friend!" her final jab was a lot like a pointed sword, still it was nothing, he was numb. It only ache him to see her crystal tears.

 _I did not deserve her tears, yes, I do not._

"Christine-"

She dropped her arms to her side, lifeless. What made his eyes widen when she rested her forehead on his chest, tiredly and broken. His sweat was mixing with her tears as his black shirt was a substitute for a handkerchief.

With a weary tone and sore voice, that he never heard before and shouldn't be spoken by her. "I missed; your voice, your overly-protectiveness, your blasted mask, your songs, your embrace, your smell of candles and roses, your hyped jealousies, your loathing of Justin Bieber, your sheer affection of Fedora, Your roses with black ribbons, your words like you've been born to the 18th century, your cheesiness, I missed it all, Erik!" she nuzzled her head and her sudden grip on his body as she embrace him, "I've missed you so much."

Too many emotions clouded his brain. She wasn't this emotional before, heck; he didn't even know she cared for him like this.

He allowed his weak arms to draped her shivering body. He suddenly felt very vulnerable by this simple girl; she exhaled a large intake of breath, "Why did you left without telling me? I don't fucking care if you want to be a helpless hermit! But God! You could've at least told me! I was surprise to see you not inside your home because I know that humanity irritates you! Without any phone calls, text or any of your goddamned note! Every hell of a day, I helplessly wonder to where you are and why did you leaves! With no trace of Erik fucking Desmond!"

He didn't respond quite yet. He didn't know what to respond.

Should he be happy because she felt lonesome when he'd gone? Or guilty because he left her thoughts to consume her of his actions?

He was afraid to talk, to submit his feelings for her. She was clearly blind to his adoration for her. Why was the heaven never be so lenient on him?

 _I'm just the ugly best friend right?_

"Christine, I-" he smelled her fragrant hair, just like always it smelled like daisies and winter air. "I needed my own break, Christine. I needed my own strength. I was weak, Christine. Even when you're around. I tried not to lose my sanity whenever you're beside me. I felt like hell knowing you didn't know how my heart reacts to your existence. My own feelings will be the death of me, Christine, I know it."

She'd knew there was more to it.

Hearing his confession made her heart flutter in her chest. She did notice he was choosing his words carefully and some major truths were left out, much to her dismay. Typical Erik always plays safe.

"Yes, Erik, I know that but -why did you _really_ left?"

Erik thought if he would finally give it up.

Seeing her obstinacy would lead him to his failure from protecting her knowing the truth, does it matter right now?

With a dry nod, "Because seeing you with other people other than me makes me feel useless. You're utterly beautiful, Christine, and I'm the epitome of unholy sins. Boys would likely woo you and I'm afraid if that lucky guy could take your heart away, and I'm shuddering at the thought if that lucky guy is Raoul. Seeing you with someone else feels like I'm living inside the very tar pit of oblivion. I left because.." he momentarily avoided her gaze, then allowed an air of valor and to end his cowardice for once and for all, continuing to regard her beautiful eyes.

"-Because I want to redeem myself and learn not to be around you, to **not** feel your presence so that I could cope better when you finally love somebody...I _hope_ I could cope better and I'm a selfish coward for not telling you that I am deeply in love with you, Christine Daaé. _**There**_. Now after this I'm going to embrace the term 'Friendzone'."

Erik wasn't hoping any reaction; he wanted the ground to swallow him right now. All those wonderful moments that he shared with Christine would be all be gone with his confession. She would hate him and curse him that no woman could possibly love a monster.

But what spurned his attention was Christine's melodious laugh. _What?_

Christine let her embrace off of him and Erik was quite saddened, although her next move was to stare at his sorrowful, amber eyes. "You moron. Do you honestly think those fops compare to you? Not even close to a millimeter. Do you think I would search for you in this city, far from our hometown because I didn't care so much for you? I don't want them, Erik, they can suck on it. I don't care if you look like Nosferatu or Adam Sandler, because it won't ever matter! I like you because you're practically _you_." she stands up on her toes and kissed him lightly on his forehead, then resumed her warmth embrace, sending him warm, tender chills.

 _Is it all true?_

 _The things she said?_

Erik didn't often cry, and when he did, he wouldn't show it.

This time, however, was an absolute exception.

 _Christine dared to put her heavenly lips to Erik's unrighteous forehead? Is it true affection did I received from this angel? Or is it just a lucid dream that sent to anguish me to spite my crude being?_

Erik could not think straight; _is she implying that we could be more? Am I not on the land of the 'Friendzone' anymore?_

Erik lay his head down on the top of her head. His tears dropped like rain down to her brown hair.

Her scent reeling him to his near madness.

The feel of her waist and the steady beat of her heart. He'd thought he was in Paradise, _and monsters like me should be in hell._

She whispered so silently that the only witnesses to her sweet words were him and the air surrounding them, "Don't think too much of the future, just think of now or don't think at all. You have a special place in my heart that no relationship could take away, Erik. Don't ever leave again okay? Not without me."

"I won't."

* * *

 **UKNOWNYMUSE:**

 **I'M AWARE THAT THIS IS NOT THEIR FIRST MEETING. I JUST FELT THE NEED TO WRITE A BEST FRIEND CONFLICT ABOUT THEM SO...**

 **UPCOMING CHAPTERS SHALL NOT ALWAYS BE THEIR FIRSTS REUNIONS OR INTERACTIONS...COUPLES ARE NOT INVARIABLY CIVIL TO EACH OTHER (mostly) AND WE HAVE A CHRISTINE/ERIK RELATIONSHIP, The intricacy of their feelings are much identified to be A PROGRESSION of CONFUSION/LOVE affiliation.**

 **ERIK, I CERTAINLY THINK YOU'RE NOT IN THE LAND OF THE 'FRIENDZONE' ANYMORE *jabbed*jabbed***


	4. Chapter 4

Music Box.

It was a mild, windy Thursday in the evening. The reddish leaves fell from their home to start the breezy air of autumn. Christine would have like it if her hair wasn't that rude.

She kept touching her hair to feel any unwanted ornaments such as the cursed dry leaves; she had plucked more than 6 times. She'd complained to her father of her stubborn hair, he would tell her that curly hairs were on her mother's gene. But seeing her mama's picture was that she didn't have a wild mass like hers, he calmly said to her that mama skipped the likely gene and Grandma passed it to her.

Since then, Christine hated how DNA works.

She pushed a stray curly lock away from her eyes and settled it behind her ear, only to return after she put her hands down. Groaning in frustration, Christine gave up to finding solution of her hair trouble.

While walking, Christine seemed to enjoy kicking tiny pebbles off the sidewalk. She was smiling to herself, reminiscing of her childhood past when her papa would try to teach her how to throw a pebble onto the vast lake with grace. It always amazes her whenever the pebble bounce off the water three times before going down. Somehow, she never succeed at it, Papa had passed away too early before she could fully learn.

One of the stones she kicked was powerful enough to snap her attention. Her eyes bulged at the sudden realization that somebody could be hurt by it. She quickly act upon it by striding to its aim, it flew fast about with one way, by now she had just realize that she was strong to make that stone fly hard. Raoul would certainly tease her muscularity.

Thankfully, Christine blew out a baited breath when she clearly saw that the stone harmed no one, well, except for the side of the bricked mansion.

"Whoa," she half whispered. She was not in the part of her quaint neighborhood anymore and she trembled with energy at seeing the capacious, palatial estate stood its daunting, and hollow facade.

Few people were coming in and out, and she was very curious to whatever shindig are they at. Christine moved to the outside gates and saw the commotion is about; Antiques for Sale, Money will be a donation for the Children's hospital.

Christine nodded in agreement, what a fine cause. She definitely could see the wealthy lots as they maneuvered themselves inside with their tuxedos and shining evening dress.

And here she was with her black stockings, pencil skirt and her lucky coat shielding her blouse away. She'd turned away; she was not welcome here, only rich people like Raoul. But before she could get away, a sweet voice rung inside her ears. She looked behind and saw a girl, maybe just about her age, with beautiful straight blonde hair that nearly broke Christine's heart.

"Hello there! Where are you going? The door is here silly!" she stepped out and with elegance took Christine's wrist, "I haven't seen you around, and are you new here? I would greatly remember a pretty face like yours!" her childlike voice echoed around them.

She fought the urge to blush. She wasn't that pretty. At least she told herself. Papa would remind her not to be narcissistic like others, and she greatly respect his values.

Christine walked inside with the blonde girl leading her. Inside was a lot more beautiful.

It was different from any others, or so she thought it was different (of course she'd only seen one mansion her entire life; Raoul's family mansion) but this one, it was...-how do you name it? - Beautifully peculiar.

Then embarrassment crept up her neck when she perceived she'd been gawking, "I'm Christine, you could say I'm new here. Oh! I wasn't supposed to be here. You see, there was a pebble I'd chased and it... well, never mind, but I don't belong around these parts."

The girl's laughter filled the room and great crowds were looking at them now, and not a very good look. "YOU CHASED A PEBBLE?" _Good lord_ , Christine's head was bowed down and the girl didn't helped at all.

A cough both turned both their heads and saw a woman with neither a scowl nor smile on her face. Christine saw the girl beside her shifted and behaved accordingly. "Meg, Shouldn't you be accompanying Mrs. Van Versdook on her purchases? A woman with her age couldn't carry the grandfather clock." the stern voice matched her high posture.

"Oh I've just welcomed a newcomer, mama!" the girl-Meg-, turned to Christine, "I've got to go! Nice to meet you by the way! Name's Meg! Maybe I'll see you around?" as fast as she can, she swiftly moved to an room. Christine noted her gracefulness. _Maybe she's a dancer._

"I deeply apologize for my daughter's forward behavior. You're new here? Welcome to The Damon Mansion, I hope this is a warm welcome. Good evening and have a nice day."

"Uhm-this was a mistake. I was just looking around and I don't-"

"Belong here? Then Meg and I aren't belong here either. This is but a charitable deed, not a grand opening of some rich man's party. I don't even understand to why they're wearing their money on clothes." the disgust in her voice was evident; the woman leaned closer and whispered, "Here's this; some wealthy people only come here for recognition not the true cause. I can plainly see that you're different from them. Now off you go! Find something you like and the children will be very much happy to know that someone do care." The woman smiled at her with motherly love that she almost wanted to hug her. Christine didn't even know her name, she felt stupid for not asking.

After minutes had passed, Christine eyed so many valuables before her eyes. It varied from each of them; Mirror glasses from China, books from Rome, Trinkets from France, and Curved swords from Persia. They were all so beautiful. Artifacts like these must have been very important to their respective owners. Parting with them must have been very difficult too. Christine thought of them to be incredibly generous to sell them and for the greater cause of donating them to poor unfortunate souls.

Then there was the breathtaking paintings whose painters where from Greece. It was all very exquisite. However Christine wasn't sure to buy it. None of them seems to feel the 'right' purchase. She would've feel guilty for being picky but the prices were extremely unsettling.

 _The criteria of all these items are ten times worth of myself..._

This is for the Children, Christine, not for your own satisfaction. She reminded herself.

Going to room after room felt like an indoor adventure, she was sure she'd been giggling for a while after receiving notorious stares.

Every room was different but their theme seems to be at one; cold and Dark.

Like the outside appearance of the mansion,

It was all too haunting, entrancing and impossibly cryptic.

But beautiful in its own way, nonetheless.

Upon arriving at the center of the mansion, Christine slightly gaped at the wide spiral staircase. She felt very foreign because of her outstanding felicity that's quite shaking her tummy just seeing the grandeur. While others visible look of nonchalance make her look like a homeless fool.

She turned her head around if someone was watching her; it appears no one really cared. Her mind wouldn't ever allowed her to step onto the solid stairs, but her heart is her curiosity, she was likely to follow it anyway. Papa always said to follow her heart.

The staircases were donned by a long bloody-red carpet. She lightly touched the shining banister, _Cold_. She argued with herself either it was copper or pure gold. What seemed like forever when her footings was finally on the second floor.

No one dared to stop her nor dared to venture out for her. She was glad in her little success for not attracting unwanted attention.

There was no one around and that made her heart quiver out of more curiosity when she eyed the door with an odd writings on the front. It was quite dimmed and squinting her eyes led her to spell the only word she understand; E. Damon. Designated with presumably gold, italic fonts and with mystery.

She leaned her ears on to the door and let her powers of eavesdropping to work.

She didn't hear anyone in particular. With brave hands, she twisted the doorknob to see it would open. And there it was.

She hesitated at first. _This is so wrong._ But the words of her papa spoke to her troubled mind; _don't live a life of dullness, sometimes you must act on spontaneity, who knows? Maybe the result will be better than you've ever dreamt of._

She stepped inside, "Hello?" nothing.

She lightly touched some surroundings, she wasn't sure what it was, the room was excessively nocturne. It still not let her curiosity to drop. She couldn't grasp the light switch and instead she fiddled on her phone and the blinding light suddenly made her eyes shut. She groaned and slowly opened her eyelids and quickly putting it to 'Flashlight Mode'.

She held her phone and its light overruled some darkness, still it was dark around the corners. She found the effects pretty terrifying like the one she'd seen on some scary movies about found footage films. She scolded herself for thinking such thoughts, _Ghosts aren't real_.

The room was huge, not like the others. Even the word 'Huge' was underestimating it.

It visibly has some touches of lurid, gloom and velvet. She found the vermilion curtains draping majestically on the wall, she really tried to open the large windows but she soon found out that they're ultimately close. Her heels felt the comfort of the ground, she felt at fault when she realizes her pathetic 2 inch heels were stepping on some million purchase carpet.

 _Maybe this was the Master's bedroom?_

For her eyes, the room was desolated, but surely someone had occupied this room, it was too regal to be left unnoticed.

She was too focused on some shimmering thing far from her grasp that she hadn't known the large piano in front of her. She stubbed her right feet and cursed some words (Words that'll make her dear papa to shook his head in shame), while aiding her unfortunate toe, Christine had clung on the piano's handle and one of her fingers carelessly touched a key.

The key's single tune blared the room and she abruptly searched behind her if someone had heard it.

Thankfully none had come.

Christine relieved a sigh, but seeing the large instrument made her heart jumped with excitement.

She let her fingers skimmed on the lingering feeling of the Piano keys, it was delicate and smooth to the touch. Absentmindedly, Christine played a single tune and stopped herself before she got too easily distracted, again. Her main purpose was to know the shiny object from earlier.

She followed the trail of her flashlight and found herself to the farthest corner of the room. She touched the object with curious fingers, wonderment inside her eyes. It was a monkey dressed up in fine vest, with a pair of golden cymbals held on its paws. The supposed monkey was seated on a wooden box. The designs overwhelmingly reflected Persia or countries of that sort. It was very lovely and Christine couldn't help but to rotate the handle on the side of the box.

A splendid sound was released as the monkey slowly, yet remarkably clasped the cymbals together. Christine awed in astonishment, never had an object made her this joyful, but this music box was deeply invigorating to her eyes and ears as well. After the tune comes to an end, Christine played the music box once more.

Christine hummed the tune, then words flew out from her mouth, _"Lemonade,_

 _Paper cups on the shade_

 _Lemonade_

 _What a taste!_

 _Everyone is enjoying all around you."_

It could be a jingle! She guffawed to how childish it was. Once more, she played it and closing her eyes, she felt the tune more allusive and somehow sad. She justified the melody by selecting the suitable words for it. Her voice rose as she solemnly sang in a slow, delicate cadence.

 _"Masquerade_

 _Paper faces on parade_

 _Masquerade_

 _Hide your face,_

 _So the world will never find you."_

The latter lyrics are much better, if not, perfect. It adds some nostalgic melancholia meaning than the happy Lemonade bit.

She grinned more to herself. She was literally adding some serious lyrics of her own; a habit of hers whenever a melody turns her on. The perks of being a Music Teacher really pays off.

She picked up the music box and searched for any possible price tag.

"That's not for sale." She jumped from fright. She'd almost dropped the thing.

It was very dark and she couldn't see him (She was sure it was a _him_ -the baritone voice gave away the gender) only his tall silhouette. She was ready to brought her phone up to face him, but his not-so happy tone commands her from doing so, "That won't be necessary." She could see the outline of the other side of his face that looks like a white mask.

 _How did he got here?_

 _Is he the..._ Christine blushed in pure embarrassment, good thing there wasn't no any lights, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to snoop here and touch this. I was mostly curious, and I'm very, very, truly sorry!" she handed out the music box for him to grab. "It's really beautiful and I would have buy this if it was for sale, even if it costs a thousand bucks." She was caught red handed, she looked like a female burglar and a life of thievery wouldn't even accept her and her clumsiness.

"Really? It's beautiful?" something in his voice suggested that he was anxious himself.

Christine nodded and wasn't sure if he saw it, "Yeah. And the melody too, profoundly pleasant. I'm very-"

A feminine shriek vibrated the room and she found a certain blonde by the door, looking terrified and shaken. "Christine! WHAT are _**you**_ doing there?! That room is entirely private!"

"Oh I was just-" She felt a grip on her hand and saw his silhouette, posing his index finger on his lips, indicating to abort any further words. "Nothing! I was checking around..Some stuff!"

Meg clearly looked very confused, shaking her head and stepping out of the door like she's expecting of a trap to befall on her any minute. "Well? What are you still doing there? Get out **now**!" Christine now knew that Meg couldn't notice him, he blended well with the shadow and the fact that they're in the farther corner and Meg's out on the doorway.

Christine had almost forgotten that he was still holding her wrist. He suddenly let go.

She moves along, phone on her hand, aiming at it for the darkness. Once she felt the piano, she'd known she was now on the middle part of the room and now understood of its cleanliness, there is someone who lives here. Christine just have realized how truly big was the room, she failed to notice earlier because of her mind-abandonment for her to seek the music box.

Then out of nowhere, she felt the leather gloves holding her hand tightly, making her to stop in her tracks. Then that voice that she widely thought would be the cure for cancer, "Thank you." She couldn't even see his face but she, in some way, knew he was smiling and almost- shy? Then she didn't expect him to leaned over, almost a step away, and the blush on her face ran deep as he picks up something on her hair. She smelled the intoxicating scent of his perfume.

Christine felt a slap of abash when he handed her a stray, browning leaf.

She might have ask him of why was he thanking her and the feel of dread of him finding the cursed leaf, but Meg's chilling voice rang out once again, like an angry and scared banshee at the same time. She was nagging her to be quick. Meg was absolutely unaware of his presence and Christine's growing plethora of embarrassment and shame.

Once outside, Meg hurriedly closed the door.

Christine was going to ask what's all that about when Meg whipped around to stare at her face in an intimidating way.

"What?"

"Why did you go there?" Her tone was accusing and possibly betrayed. Christine was feeling guilty and slightly furious at her, Didn't Meg saw something unusual-like a leaf on her hair! And decides to not say anything?! She was with her for a lengthy moment and that guy perfectly saw it, in spite of the darkness.

Or maybe she didn't notices it at all. The brown leaf resembled the color of her hair anyway.

"Avenging my wild curiosity. Look, I'm very sorry."

Meg huffed and nodded with glassy eyes, "Yeah, me too, I'm sorry for the way I acted. But you should've never went there. What if Mr. Damon found you and.." She stops, looking disconsolate.

"And?"

"He's going to have his serious fits and you won't like that."

"But he didn't. Is he the one which I assume has a white covering on the side of his face?"

"HE SAW YOU?" Christine nodded. Meg's reaction was at first perplexed, then a flash of terror, then a grin. What is her real reaction trying to portray?

"Is there something wro-" without any seconds gone, Meg had already clung to her arms and Christine tried not to trip, or much worse as to fall while Meg practical drags her on the way down to the majestic stair.

Christine groaned to herself; what is it with people cutting her sentences?

And they're the ones living inside a mansion...

It happened too fast when Meg elapses through the big hall, with a very bewildered Christine.

The blonde received plentiful of scowls upon yelling out her mother's name in vain and rush. She soon stopped and forcing Christine to stop too, much to her joy.

"Good heavens, Meg! Why do you have to scream like a drunken daft? Breathe, Meg- what? Slow down!-Stop your tittle-tattle!" The older woman frowned at her daughter's antics. Yet her refined poise suggested that she was used to her crazy acts.

Meg seemed to calm down and reused her words carefully, "She-Christine- went to the room! You know, **the** room! And guess what mama? He wasn't upset! Or so I thought.. I was rounding a patrol if someone decides to go up and I found the door open to his room! And I didn't hear any scream, especially her scream!"

The woman widened her eyes and gazed at her in wander. Christine approved that this woman is indeed the mother of Meg, noticing the exact resemblance of their eyes. "Are you alright dear? He didn't harm you, did he?" her serious yet caring voice melted Christine's heart.

Christine shook her head, "No. Quite the opposite really, he sounds nice." _and heavenly,_ she thought to her own, "He even thanked me." she wasn't planning on telling them he pulled a traitorous leaf on her hair, thinking to that action was already disgracing her and telling it- was a punch on a face with a hot rod. She felt the laughing leaf still residing on her palms.

Now the older woman smugly smiled at her, unbeknown of the war residing Christine's mind. "You must've pleased him. Erik is a very distant fellow and him interacting is very uncomfortable to him and mostly uncustomary of him to do. Saying Thank you means a lot of different meanings to perceive if he's the one saying it."

Christine thought of an action that pleased him... Is he amazed that she went to his room without his consent? And her touching his over the price things?

The next day, Christine found herself on her bed holding and staring at a gemstone. It was lovely and the shape of a heart, not too big and not too small. She decided to buy the gemstone of the color of amethyst, it was from Italy and she bought it for 85 bucks. It was worth it; for the children and for the melancholic part: it reminds her of her dear mama. Catharine Reede was all too fond of crocuses. Her entire garden was filled with bright crocuses especially her favorite color, purple. Little Christine would pluck them up upon their bloom and give them to papa. He would then smile up at her and lightly scold her for picking them too prematurely. _Let them live the days when the friendly sun brings them light and the smiling Moon, to give them rest. I promise you my Amethystine, they will grow more beautifully and you will pick them for the world to see._

 _Amethystine..._

Her papa called her many times of that name when she was a child. She hadn't known the meaning then, and she only thought that papa had remarkably jumbled her name to mama's color. She smiled warmly, recalling her sweet childhood days.

The thoughts on her head kept replaying the events of yesterday. And the sudden loneliness of the music box, it was a shame that it's not for sale though. But this gemstone was a great substitute for it.

Mrs. Antoinette Giry (Christine finally asked before parting their ways) was better in holding something and Christine was great of suspecting. She knew full well that there was more to the older woman's saying superlatives about Mr. Damon and his assumed mysterious facade, and it intrigued her more.

 _Curiosity is a very bad wont, Christine._ Her father had told her when he caught her snooping around his work.

And yet she keeps on disobeying.

What a fine daughter she was.

The doorbell rang, she looked at the window and frowned. Christine wasn't fond of the mailman if he was delivering nasty letters like the bills. She purposefully slowed down her steps and cursed the door for being near.

Christine dreaded the sound of the opening door.

The mailman grinned and bid her a good day. He was holding a box, a medium size box. She was looking at him questionably and signed the paper on his hands anyway.

"What is it?"

The mailman shrugged, "Don't ask me, I'm just a mailman." he tipped his hat and said goodbye.

She locked the door close and ran to her bedroom, not able to contain her utmost curiosity. She nearly destroyed the wrapper in pieces and suddenly stopped herself.

What if it's a bomb?

 _Who would like to see you dead? You're the most-least exciting living organism in the whole world_. Christine proceed to open the box, quarreling with herself was idiotic and to her shock and astonishment, a package she didn't expect.

A well-dressed monkey holding the shining cymbals...

It's the music box!

And with a letter.

 _Dear Miss Christine Reede ,_

 _I hope you are having a pleasant day and hopefully this music box would be the cause of your fair smile once more._

 _Now you must be wondering to how I'd known your address and your name, it is because of Miss Giry, please don't be frightened for I only want you to give my beloved music box to you. You don't need a thousand of bucks to have this._ **(Christine chuckled at the memory of her desperate plea)**

 _And I do not harbor any resentment at you for coming to my private quarters. It's nice to have some light into it, isn't it? And I was overly ecstatic to hear you play the piano, and Beethoven's For Elise. My, you have a wonderful choice of music._

 _I must say, the words you created for the music box is really brilliant! Are you a songwriter too? You deserve this than anyone._ _ **(Oh god, did he heard the Lemonade too?)**_

 _By the way, you have the most angelic voice, Miss Christine, I most certainly hope I would like to hear you again._

 _Yours,_

 _Erik Damon._

Christine felt buoyant and frivolous, she could also hear him say the words inside her head. She held the paper and the music box on her chest, the crazy beat of her heart was evident.

She searched for her pen and paper somewhere in the drawer.

After all, she never even thanked him for the music box, this was it. Golly, he'd remembered her and her longing of her pure attraction of the box. And the unspoken leaf accident! She was exceedingly glad that he didn't add it on his letter. She would've punch herself on the gut.

Oh! How he complimented her! She thought of the words she wants to say, to make it as fancy as him. Even his penmanship puts hers to disgrace.

 _Dear Mr. Erik Damon,_

Christine wrote and wrote, as the melody of the music box dwelled inside her ears.

* * *

 **UKNOWNYMUSE:**

 _ **"Lemonade,**_

 _ **Paper cups on the shade**_

 _ **Lemonade**_

 _ **What a taste!**_

 _ **Everyone is enjoying all around you."**_

 **I regret nothing. *blasts overture***


	5. Chapter 5

Pinky Swear.

"Penny for your thoughts?" A little girl of barely the age of seven and a half, sat on the creaking floor beside the boy with his sullen face and drooping body.

He really wanted so badly to ignore her but cannot find himself to do it, not to her anyway. With a heavy, glum sighed, he opened up his palm without looking at her pretty little face. He wouldn't tolerate this childhood games but for her, he was half-willing to participate. Just because he was force to mature, despite his age, that doesn't imply that Christine should too. _She is worthy of happy moments and happy endings._

The feel of the cold, silver penny interacted on his palm and then followed by the soft feel of her fingertips brushing against it. She looks at him expectantly and a toothy grin on her face suggest him to speak now.

The nine year old boy settled his elbows on the flat board of the front porch, and looked around as if fearing someone would hear him, "Momma was drunk last night, again. She..She hit me twice." He whispered and the dark memory of last night flooded to his mind, making him cry with bitter tears, "Then again, and again, and again."

The girl gasped and flung her arms around his lithe frame, "My poor Erik!" Then she sobbed too. He was cold to the touch, but little Christine didn't mind it. It's times like this that she found her own mother to be a godsend. But Erik never deserve the punishment of the devoid of his mother's love. Never a child should be deserving of so much hate.

Little Erik stopped because she would stop too. He turned to look at her and drew away the tears by his little thumb. Tears are not welcome for this angel beside him. The petite girl seemed to cease and slowly reached for the white covering resting on the half of his face. "No!" the boy shrunk in fear and twisted his head away from hers. Founding resolution to the other side.

Disappointed, Little Christine crossed her arms and pouted. The boy sensing her displeasure, looked even far away. "Don't look at me like that." he crossed his arms in an indignant manner. Even for not seeing her face, he could feel the shot of her angry eyes that seems to burn him from the back of his head.

The girl-with the look of willpower, puffed her chest up, proving him that she can be intimidating as he was. Furrowing her eyebrows and a not so fearful punch on the board, "I'm not a-scared! I'm not like them! If you can't trust me then I'm not your friend, and you know what that means?" she looked at him, still he wasn't looking at her, "It means that you're not my friend!"

He snapped his head to fully looked at her.

He was going to correct her choice of splicing a word, then again, he noticed her once joyous aura dissolving to an unknown emotion that didn't suit her sweet personality.

 _She can't be serious_. She was now looking at the direction ahead of her, together with a stubborn cross of her arms. She is serious. The way she sniffed and the sad look on her face, indicating that she'd cried silently. Erik was ashamed; he'd knew that Christine genuinely valued their friendship and here he was, being the problem. "I'm sorry."

She didn't respond and he faithfully waited.

An idea came to his mind; Christine was always the positive type, and today the roles would be reverse, until he could see her smile, he would gladly play along.

He lightly tapped her shoulder, she still didn't acknowledge him. He put on his rare smile and utter words that he never would have expect himself to say,

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Christine widened her eyes with beaming excitement. She gladly took the silver penny and tucked it inside the pocket of her sundress. Erik had thought if she was aware of the same penny she'd given him. He decided to not speak, savoring her immediate forgiveness. Christine held her chin upward and with the commanding voice, Erik wasn't sure if he was proud or frighten by the seven and a half years old girl, "I would like to see you _now_."

She was aiming for the mask of course.

He'd likely wanted to protest but this girl, this young innocent girl would want to see him, his monstrous disfigurement.

She waited for him with her long lashes and sky blue eyes. He couldn't submit his only beloved friend to many nightmares if she saw him. She tapped the board, hinting her impatience.

At least he will prove to her that he trusts her with all his being. His shaky hands were visible to her eyes and a lone sweat marching down on his forehead. The raggedy feel of the fabric as his mask gave halting orders to stop, Will this be the end of their blossoming friendship?

Erik gripped the cloth, _this is for her_ , and He snatched it away.

The feel of air rush to his deformities, if they were to be of human form, they are the gossipers who came to humiliate him. Closing his eyes, not letting his tears to escape and not wanting to see her emotion.

This face _is_ the subject of mock and endless taunting,

This face earned him the title of the living corpse,

This face was the reason to leave his childhood behind,

But nothing greatly compare that this inhumane face had won the loathing of his mother.

It will all soon be toppled over by Christine's disdain and fear of him now that she saw him.

 _Christine_.. Now that he thought about it, she hadn't said a word, maybe because he didn't open his eyes.

He gradually flickered his eyes open and saw her orbs staring at him with an unreadable face. _This was it._ He'd feared that this day would come, He expects her to launch herself away and call out to her papa because of the monster in front of her. "I know, I'm horrifyingly ugly."

Then again, his expectations might not all be true...

She tenderly smiles up at him, touching the scarred part of him without flinching, "For others, they may think you are. For me, It's a harsh gash like a terrible scrape on the knee," she pointed her swollen knee, an accident while she was playing tag with Raoul, and he got a bit excited by tackling her on the ground, "Yours may be for a long time but that doesn't imply you are a un-plea-sant monster," something in her words made her chuckle, "Did you hear me? I've spent too much with you that I sound like an advance speaking kid! Papa should be proud!"

Erik was mostly dumbfounded.

She didn't run, scream, cry nor _died_.

She was still herself; Christine.

Though he was interested by her trying so hard to speak like him. She was saying them with frank honestly and lading it with comfort avoiding to say it herself, the word 'Ugly.'

"Christine.. I..-I" He was too shaken to even say a word. Moreover, Christine has something in mind, she clapped her hands together and a wide smile on her face.

"Ooh! Why don't we get married?!"

Erik suddenly felt dazed.

"I would care for you! Patch your little bruises! Flog the kids who teases you! It will be fun!" Her chocolate curls were vibrating with her excitement as she giggled on her seat, " I will be your Mother-Wife!"

"Christine, we are far too young! And did you just joined the mother and wife together?" As good as it sounds, Erik was sure that this angel didn't knew much about marriage and him also, he didn't even know the idea of it, let alone his father's name or looks. One thing for sure that he haven't seen any kids in a wedding that focuses around very young couples.

"Non-sense! Mama and Papa are married! And look at them! They're happy, care for each other and papa's very protective of mama! See? They're just like us! But younger!" then she solemnly looked at him, "Yes, I will be your Mother-Wife. I will be the best mother for you, I will not beat you nor deny you! And make you happy as any wife would do to their husbands!" Erik can't cry, for she will cry. Instead he looked at her with glassy eyes and smiled at her, lovingly then before frowning.

"Yes, but it's much more. They are in love.. -"

Christine stopped her giggling and stiffened, "We are not in love?"

He didn't know what to say. Yes, he deeply cares for her, you might say he is, but her pretty mind didn't know the capacity nor the meaning of it either. Even himself, he didn't know what was love, his mother never did showed him, but for the emotions concerning his angel, it surely must be. "I do love you, Christine, yet the question is for you."

Christine pouted, "Of course I do! And you still not believe.." she put a finger on her chin, thinking to herself, "Alright! How about we settle this? When the time comes that we are like my mama and papa's age, we will marry!" she donned on her challenging look.

"Alright." Erik said, smiling at his playmate's undying free spirit.

She shook her head, "No. We do this ap-pro-pria-tely." Having a hard way of pronouncing the last word, Erik noted that she was really trying to impress him by speaking fluently with vocabularies. Didn't she know that she already impressed him by her own existence? She raised her good hand, her right hand, closing her fingers except for the little one, "Pinky swear to me; that you Erik Leroux, will marry me, Christine Cayatte, and not long before."

Erik followed her actions, "I Pinky swear; that I, Erik Leroux, to marry you, Christine Cayatte, and not long before." he clasped their little fingers together with unity.

Minutes past until they've unclasp their hold and looked at the sunset; her head resting on his shoulder, like any other children founding comfort within each other.

* * *

 **UKNOWNYMUSE:**

 **Kids+Talk of Marriage+Naivety =Never fail to amaze me.**

 **It'll be fun when they've grown up and discuss their proposal. Now, you might lecture me that they're incapable of remembering their childhood vows which is hardly a point because we have a NEVER forgetting Christine (I'm looking at** _ **you,**_ **red scarf) then a genius man like (Although, NO ONE can EVER SURPASS) Erik who is clearly, very, ardently in love with Miss Daaé. Who should forget such moment? Non! Because they will remember! And the north always remembers!**


	6. Chapter 6

**UNKNOWNYMUSE:**

 **Not a Ghost3** **: OH! GREETINGS :) I THANK YOU FOR YOUR IMMENSE SUPPORT BY REVIEWING :) REVIEWS MAKE ME SMILE. AND I APPRECIATE YOUR 'POINTERS', IT MEANS THAT YOU ACTUALLY READ MY WEIRD STORY.**

 **SORRY ABOUT THOSE ERRORS, AFTER COMPLETING A CHAPTER I REALLY TRIED TO REREAD IF MY GRAMMARS/WORDS ARE CORRECT (** **MY TINY EYESIGHT COULDN'T INSPECT THOSE MISPRINTS)** **AND MY MIND GOES -Sound of explosion- yeah (** **｡** **ŏ_ŏ) just like that.**

 **Christineoftheopera** **: HI THERE :) OH, CHILDHOOD... THEY BRING US BACK FOND MEMORIES.**

 **I AND A CHILDHOOD FRIEND USED TO 'PLAY' WEDDINGS.**

 **ALTHOUGH, I WAS** _ **THE**_ **PRIEST (the irony because I'm now an agnostic). I USED TO MAKE UP WORDS LIKE "YOU CAN BE THE CUSTARD OF HER HOTDOGS AND YOU CAN BE HIS PRINCESS PEACH (MARIO BROS WAS OUR MESSIAH THEN)**

 **AND THE KISS WAS CANCELED, MAINLY BECAUSE WE'RE KIDS AND COOTIES WERE THE PLAGUE.**

 **(** **.** **) BY THE WAY. LOVE YOUR USERNAME ^ω^**

 **WARNING!**

 **YOU MAY GET CONFUSE BY THIS PARTICULAR CHAPTER. I'VE REVERSED THEIR ROLES INTO A MORE COMPLEX VIEW POINT. SOME OF THEM ARE GENDERBENDS AND THE STORY FROM WHAT WE KNOW IS MOSTLY CONTRARIETY FROM THIS ONE.**

 **ANTITHESIS - (n) (Greek for "setting opposite", from ἀντί "against" + θέσις "position") is used in writing or speech either as a proposition that contrasts with or reverses some previously mentioned proposition, or when two opposites are introduced together for contrasting effect.**

* * *

Antithesis.

She listened to him with her heart opened.

And he sang beautifully that she _knew_ it wasn't her heart to keep, but now his.

Today was the grand opening production of _Gounod's_ Faust. People aren't hesitant to show their disappointment when the new managers, Mme Felicia Richard and Mme Andréa Moncharmin, exclaiming and apologizing that Piangi cannot sing, instead the role was given to the chorus boy, Erik Destler.

All the great composers of the day had conducted their own works in turns. Conrad and Clauss had sung; and, on that evening, Erik Destler had revealed his true self, for the first time, to the bewildered and jubilantly audience. All artistes had their own performance with remarkable talents. Ranging from tenor to soprano; whether it is Italian, Spanish or French mouths.

Geldroi had conducted the _Funeral March of a Marionette_ ; Amí, her lovely overture to _Siguar_ ; Saint Saüns, the _Danse Macabre_ and _Rêverie Orientale_ ; Moriz, an unpublished Hungarian march; Gustave, his _Carnaval_ ; Deborah, the _Valse lente_ from _Sylvia_ and the _Pizzicati_ from _Coppelia_. Mlle. Katarina had sung the bolero in the _Vespri Siciliani_ ; and Mlle. Denise Cloch the drinking song in _Lucrezia Borgia_.

But the real triumph was reserved for Erik Destler, who had sung a few passages from _Romeo and Juliet_. It was the first time that the young artist sang in front of the extensive crowd, he swore he heard the audience sniffing and weeping through his strong voice. He was greatly applauded and earned a standing ovation.

Those who silently sobbed had tearfully agreed that his voice was seraphic; not long before they assert that the notes turned superhuman in time for the prison scene and trio from _Faust_ , which he sang in place of Piangi, who was terribly ill.

The audience shivered and felt deeply cleansed from his angelic voice.

And she listened behind the covers of Box Five.

The sensational grip on her abdomen was something she couldn't verify nor have known. The cloaked figure hid from the prying eyes and tormented herself by listening; the luminary, ingenious, witty and clever, Spectre of the Opera, was weak-hearted whenever she saw him; her mind would mindlessly wander off to another realm of her tameless soul whenever she hear him sing.

The applause of the audience was clouded out of her ears, only his voice was allowed to enter. She gaped at his constant bowing at the spectators, she darkly grimaced, and they should be the ones bowing down to him. _They are not deserving of his immaculate talents._

She wasn't supposed to feel anything more than a teacher's favor. He was her student - her _only_ student who is worthy of her tutelage - and possibly her mistake. It has been fourteen years since she nurtured his shy voice into a majestic, sonorous sound that even the angels above will drop their knees in front of him and kiss his feet. The grand mistake was him to believe that - _she_ \- was his Angel of Music. Scoffing, she was no angel. But it was the only way for him to accept the death of his maman and at a young age, he was likely to believe any tales with happy endings. And with his success, _the angels wept tonight._

 _Even so, Angels do not exist, if so, He_ _ **is**_ _the angel._

The hidden figure put her hands onto her chest, feeling the rhythmic beatings of her heart. She cannot perchance to say that she's..."NO." She shook her head rather grievously, _No - it is not it, Ogress can't love, cannot feel love._

 _Love is weakness._

She hadn't known that her angel was gone. The announcements were done, the show had ended and the curtains had dropped.

Few busybodies were still at the foyer, talking loudly and congratulating the two lady managers with their nose up in the air. _Those minxes! Bathing their glory like they shed thousands of sweat! They did nothing but nearly destroyed my opera!_

She turned on her heels to get away from the cover, to get away from their suffocating ignorance and rushing into one of her secure spot. There she found her angel, silencing herself to peer at him in his dressing room. He was staring at his reflection, standing tall, his hands grasping the vanity and muscles flaunt with no excuse of clothing covering his daring chest but a white towel around his neck, absorbing his dripping sweat. His tights from his costume was curving his strong legs and embracing in appreciation on to his middle...

A scorching heat reached her neck up to her cheeks; she was not a voyeur. Such crude manner is not her strong suit. She was capable of _other_ titles she deserve; A murderer, A grotesque Freak, A Living Corpse-Bride, A Beldame Demon, and the Devil's mistress. You can name all her sinister acts but not a peeper of carnal lewd.

All she wanted was to see him, his glorious, vernal face -a face could rival those of Adonis and Narcissus- could he share the same tragedies that befall both men because of pulchritudinous? Thinking of his demise brought sheer dread to her; she will do anything for him. She would travel to any great lengths just for him, to prove him that she can give him the luxuries and pleasures she'd never tasted.

The sound of knocking on the door caught his attention. He reached out for his nightshirt and his upper body was concealed now with soft linen, except for the slit from the neckline, vaguely revealing his distinguished thorax, and showing small flecks of raven chest hair. He firmly held the doorknob, "Who is it?" he asked, not wanting any snooper who would question him about his quick stardom and the impression of him replacing the insufferable Piangi. He never intended to replace the man, he only wanted to sing, and that's what his dear angel wanted for him too. He gave all of his soul to her, his voice. He might have fainted earlier, on the very spot of the stage, but he regains some sense of control. He gave all of him when he'd sung. He gave his soul, knowing she would be watching - _She will be listening_.

"Erik,"

He winced from the cold voice of his surrogate father. He turned the knob, pulling it open and putting on a genuine smile, "Monsieur Valerius." lowering his head to respect the man, whose undying face of emotionless stood in an intimidating stance as his right hand gripped the head of his crane and the other seems to be hiding something on his back.

"You did well," his voice was unwavering, just as his posture, " _She_ isproud." He swiftly moved the concealed hand out of his back that Erik hadn't noticed it quickly, "A token of her appreciation."

It was a pure, red rose with a black ribbon tied on its stem.

Erik held the rose then giving a large inhale, smelling the wondrous scent, "It's beautiful."

The hiding figure would have fainted.

He likes it, the wild beat of her chest was disturbing her, yet it felt so right and wrong.

She couldn't decide earlier to what to give him, _what did men want-What did Erik wants?_

She never heard him wishing about something nor had given her hints, it's like he didn't even expect her to give him anything.

She was fond of flowers. Any flowers that ranges from different colors; Daisies, Forget-me-nots, Tulips, Snowdrops, Carnations, Crocuses, Roses and Everything in relations of flowers.

She'd often remember as a child, she used to pick up little sunflowers and give them to her papa. She would regret it afterwards. Papa never did liked flowers from a monster.

But this angel, _her_ angel, accepted it!

She was aplomb when speaking to Valerius, instructing him to personally give Erik a rose after his performance. The man wryly looked at her upon hearing her strict command and was about to say something but decided against it. He'd know this woman for so long and her exclusive temperament is not worthy of another, frustratingly long argument. Any pair of eyes can clearly notice the mighty affection she douses for Erik. It started when he was a boy of six years and the death of his mama left him homeless and frightened. Young Erik was brought to the grand Opera Populaire. There had been no other blood relatives.

The previous managers, Mme Debienne and Mme Poligny, took responsibility on the poor child because of Madeleine Destler's past affiliation of the Opera house. She was an astounding musician and before her incurable illness, she mostly contributed her talents to the theatre.

She watched as Valerius patted him on the back and earnestly praised him in his known reticent. Professor Valerius was the first to recognize the amazing fiddler and her talented son. Madeleine Destler and her only son, Erik, had originally lived in a small town of Rouen. His father had died when he was just a babe to a fire accident; He grievously vanished within the smoke and it seems the money as well. They were penniless and without a shelter. Moreover, Madeleine didn't care, as long as her last treasure was with her, Erik, Everything was perfect. They roamed land after lands, performing on the streets with only her violin on her hands and Erik by her side. Sometimes he would listen, mostly he sang, to which people would stop their walking and watch and after that, they would give them coins.

The news of a wandering child and his maman reached Professor Valerius's ears and he opened up his arms for them. He took them to his manor and the two never did feel unwanted.

His wife favored the little young'un. It was not before Madeleine was accepted by the Opera House to perform and little by little, their lives have taken a good turn. Or so it seems.

Erik truly respected the man. He considers him and his wife, his own family. He even perceives him as his father he never met nor knew. Professor Valerius was a joyous man, erstwhile, the death of Mama Valerius have wholly affected him in some woeful way. He'd grown cold and bluntly distant; yet he was there for him when Madeleine's death, because he knew all too well-what was the meaning of pain.

After their formal discussion, Professor Valerius bid him goodnight and stepped out but not closing the door, Erik seems to regard the matter just as he was about to close it, his eyes bulged and his smile had widely spread.

Erik was filled with euphoria and nostalgic heartiness as he spun the young maiden around.

The ebony-haired maiden laughed with him when he finally put her down, their grins haven't cease.

Erik beckoned her inside and she willingly obeyed. He laid down the rose on the vanity and stared at his longtime friend, "Erik! I'm glad you haven't forgotten me!"

"Of course! I wouldn't spin any girls like I'm some Bluebeard!"

The raven-haired mademoiselle blushed furiously. He remembered that tale- his mother used to tell them. Little Erik would tease her about Bluebeard was coming to take her, she would stuck out her tongue to him; then blushed when he said that he will always rescue her. They would play any make-believe tales; he a knight and she a princess; A Hunter and a Fairy Queen; or as simple as a Man and his wife. _They played at hearts as other children might play at ball; only, as it was really their two hearts that they flung to and fro, they had to be very, very handy to catch them, each time, without hurting them._

Erik saw his childhood friend staring at the mirror. Either her reflection or his, he didn't know, her eyes spoke blankly. _Thought of everything and nothing_. He'd recalled their first meeting, he was by the sea alone, his mother was inside the beautiful home of Professor Valerius, and he'd caught a glimpse of a young girl reaching out to her scarf swaying with the wind. Alas! The scarf had flown down to the sea. Little Erik mightily went into the harsh waves and minutes passed, he drifted back on the shore, awfully wet and teeth clattering but with the drowned red scarf in his frail arms. His mother had terribly screeched and he received a charming smile from the charming, young girl called Meg.

 _"The roses fade and die."_ she gently said; holding the rose with the black ribbon. Feeling the soft petals against her thumb, she looked at his reflection on the mirror, her eyes expectant for him.

He chuckled, _"But we, our infant lord shall surely see."_ His words relieved her. She beamed at him, like the young child he remembered who used to hop on his back and would laugh with him and be frightened of the tales of Korrigans.

"Little Gerda, you have grown, yet still so little."

She lightly smacked him on his chest, "Hmp! I'm in my respectable height, _thank you._ " She false her anger at him, "And I have you know, I have many splendid suitors barging at my door because they happen to fancy me and my size." Meg tilted her head up high, indignantly.

Erik tugged the sides of his lips and leaned in closer to her. Pushing a stray black hair away from her blushing face. "Such act of smacking is entirely scandalous for a viscountess like you. Moreover, I like your smallness just fine, Little Gerda. And the beauty you hold could make any blind man woo you."

Meg swayed her head on the other direction and refusing to face him. She was reddening than the red rose on the table.

Erik's mama used to tell them the story of Little Gerda and her search for Little Kai. It was their favorite story- to listen to Madeleine's voice and she and Erik would huddle together, sharing a yellow blanket.

The effects he has on her were making her giddy and graceless. What would her mama say?

But, Erik thought that he'd done something to upset her. Scowling, He sought for her hands and gripping them tightly as if he wouldn't let go if she wouldn't forgive him. "I apologize for my brazen words. I don't mean to offend you in any way. Please don't be mad."

She lost it. She was truly scorching when he laid his hands on hers. Erik had the impression that she was sick as she was reddening as a tomato and temperature was undeniably hot. She too was sweltering.

She gave a croak sound and calmed herself; she did not want to speak so foolish in front of him. "Why would I be mad? Oh you! Let's not talk of this!" She faces him, courageously, "Little Kai, you have a wonderful voice. I wept while listening to you, and I'm sure, mother did so."

Erik, who was now slightly uneasy, looked away and stared at the mirror. _Should I tell her?_

After a long pause, "Do you remember my maman's story? About the Angel of Music? Do you?"

Meg was puzzled, yet smiles up at him, "Yes, of course. She used to tell us that the most righteous of heart could only hear the Angel of Music."

"She once said that she shall bring me the Angel of Music, and she did! I heard her, Meg, I did. She has the most beautiful voice."

Meg jovially laughed; however, her Little Kai was stoic and undeniably serious. His lip had thinned, his eyes lightly glaring at her, "This is not a jesting matter."

Still, Meg continues to guffaw, now holding herself as she heaved for breathing. "Really, Erik?" she giggled, "That's the best you've got? And 'She'? You even decided to make her a woman! How charming of you."

The young man groaned this is the consequence of him telling her his clandestine.

"Meg, don't laugh like that! She might hear you slandering her, she's everywhere; from the walls, floors, and even inside this room."

"Balderdash!" Her merriment spread around, echoing within these walls.

Just then, the door rapped furiously on the outside and Little Jammes's squeaking voice could be heard. She called out for Erik if he'd seen the young Viscountess. "Uh... Monsieur Erik, if I may ask of Mlle Giry to, perhaps, come out- Mme Giry is fretting over her absence and commanding her to go to her

Meg had abruptly stopped her little festivity. The mention of her strict mama's name brought fear to her body. She gravely looked at Erik and him at her. They stared until they laughed. Both had remember their childhood summer when both of them fell from the apple tree near the Girys' cottage, Madame Antoinette Giry made sure to scold them at lengthy hours, remarking to the young children: "You two are heedless and reckless. Margarette, a proper lady does not climb apple tree or any tree! And Erik, I'm disappointed. You know better." after that, they'd not receive any desserts and was forbidden to eat English sweets.

"I should go." She murmured, not wanting to embarrass herself more and she didn't want Little Jammes to hear any of their conversation. She could hear her mama's Stern voice: "A respectable lady, without any of her attendee, does not emerge from a man's room!" _Oh! What must she think of me now?_

Erik idly nodded. Gesturing at the door, he opened it and found Little Jammes, gaping at him. Erik smiled at the young ballerina. Meg saw her instant expression upon seeing him; _I am not the only one..._

The Viscountess passed him by and nodded to her childhood friend in regard and grace.

Erik's words caught her widespread surprise and Little Jammes' as well, "Good-bye Little Gerda, It must be awful to your mother if she ever catches you here, in this room, with me. That isn't bad, is it? After all, we are longtime sweethearts. We may _do_ whatever we want."

Meg's cheeks flustered and burned up.

She heard him chuckling before she ran away from him like a contagion ready to leap. Little Jammes followed her, though her head was indefinitely low and blushing wildly like hers. This was his revenge when she'd laughed at him and his ' _Angel of Music_ '; He had implied that they were doing risqué indiscretions and the thought sizzle her up thoroughly. Little Jammes stole few glances at her, Oh _god, she's thinking of what I'm thinking! Damn you, Erik!_

Erik, meanwhile, locked the door and savoring the images of their faces-especially Meg's. It serves her right; he didn't want her patronizing him that his Angel wasn't real. The years he found solace in her voice, without actually seeing her, he felt more alive. Yes, she was strict -Stricter than Professor Valerius (And that is saying a lot), yet something in her voice was melancholic; like an ethereal angel's cry. He turned around to suddenly feel his changing room to be colder. The room, somehow, felt so sad and angry. Could his Angel have heard the whole exchange?

He shook his head dismissively.

She watched the whole scene, like a romantic opera of Shakespeare.

They're happy, with their loving smile and their playful chaff. It all makes her sick.

She wanted to stop the whirlwind of emotion; pain, mostly jealousy. Can it be? _Can I feel such thing?_

She had wanted to drag the raven-haired mademoiselle away from him.

But she can't. She was afraid of him, of him to see her as vulnerable and weak she was now.

 _Yes, Erik, you make poor Christine weak and tremble with fear - of you knowing I am not what you expect._

And that foolish girl who thought her existence was fraud. Yes, she was not the Angel of Music, he hopes that she would be, but nor she's an angel. She can do more than any angels could never do -She would deceive for him, cheat for him, KILL for h _im will make an appearance! I shall show him that I am much better than that chit! That -that slave of fashion!_

She will do everything for him.

She fasten her cloak around her and touch her hair if it's been disheveled, she must be formal and pleasant for her grand entrance. Then lightly touched her mask, the armor of her monstrosity. _I will be the Snow Queen of your fairytale; you are mine Erik, not hers nor anybody else's._

She gathered her voice, seeing Erik's eyes of wonderment and thunderstruck _ **"I am your Angel of Music."**_

* * *

 **UNKNOWNYMUSE:**

 **Yes, I've joined details from the book, the musical and Kay's.**

 **I've put minor twists and some are of different genders. This was an experimentation of** **IF THEY SWITCH LIVES** **; would everything still be the same?**

 **Just like this doggerel;**

 _ **Apathy, apathy, take yourself in the place of me.**_

 **AND YES. ERIK IS NORMAL LIKE 'EVERYBODY ELSE' AND HE'S HANDSOME TOO (though, I always thought of him handsome, with his deformity and all. I don't know, I've an uncanny fondness of physical disfigurement)**

 **I'VE REVERSE THEIR SITUATION. ERIK'S AND CHRISTINE'S. NOW, MISS DAAÉ, HOW DO IT FEELS TO LOVE ERIK AND HIM MIGHT NOT RECIPROCATE? HMM?**

 **By the way, if I read a review about this chapter being "Wrong" or "Mixed up", I will hunt that person in their dream and glare daggers at them. THIS CHAPTER IS CALLED** **ANTITHESIS** **FOR SOMETHING!**

 **AND KUDOS TO ANYONE WHO KNEW THESE TONS OF REFERENCES. YOU ARE A TRUE PHAN (*** **ﾟｰﾟ** **) v**

 **AND ANY SAY TO THE MATTER OF THE CONNECTIONS BETWEEN HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN's THE SNOW QUEEN AND GASTON LEROUX's PHANTOM OF THE OPERA? NO? OKAY.**


	7. Chapter 7

Harper Lee.

"You really tipped him off!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Did you see the look on his face when you started defending the 'goodness of the world' and all your benevolence crap?!"

"..."

"Ooh! What about _your_ face when you have realized what you'd done? Your mouth was hanging open and I tried not to laugh like it's my last day to guffaw!"

"Shut it, _Meggara_." The blonde said through gritted teeth, having enough of the mild teasing. Her companion glared at her for the utterance of her name, then continuing to laugh heartily, making the blonde sighed in defeat.

They were walking on the pavements of the University. Their dorm was just a few blocks away and they weren't that late, so a walk in the open fields of the Uni was exceptionally relaxing, not to Christine, that is. Some students were eyeing at her in the most unusual and wretched stares they could muster. Apparent to her friend's demise, Meg had felt Christine's shuffling and trying to hide herself on Meg's petite frame.

"Wow, it looks like you're the newest flame around here. The spontaneous events of yesterday were really carried off like a wildfire not ready to be extinguished." Meg glanced behind to see the fawning Christine.

"I noticed." she lowered her head so that her sunshine hair framed her face and out of the sights she didn't want to see. She clung on to Meg's shoulder for support and balance, not wanting to have any mishaps for the hungry eyes staring at her, waiting for her to do something that could shame her reputation, once more

They've reached the stairs leading to the double doors, into the madness that soon waited for Christine Dubois. Her friend sensing her distress, held a loving hand to her shoulder, "Everything's fine." Despite doubts in her own words. Christine nodded idly and they proceed ascending to the dreaded staircase.

"Are you purposely walking slower?"

" _No_."

Meg sighed in fatigue, "You are. You don't have to worry Chris, I'm here, and you should really want this day to end, so come here and don't walk like you're an extra from the walking dead! You've barely reached the fourth step!"

Christine groaned; each step was making her heart shake, and not a very good one. It took more minutes to straighten and calmed herself; _you should be proud of standing up to your beliefs!_ Founding new courage, Christine walked faster and when she reached the top, she pumped her fist around for her victory, yet her friend wasn't sharing her celebration; Meg was looking horrified, she was holding her phone and from the way her head moves, she's rereading some text. Before Christine could ask, Meg looked at her seriously, eyes stopping the threatening saline. "Charlotte texted and she said Anton got into an accident!"

Her eyes rounded with worry and question, "What happened?"

"Car crash-"

"He doesn't have a car- _oh_." Christine nearly smacks herself for her slow-wittedness and obtuse mouth. She embraces her best friend, seeing she's crying already. Meg was trembling as her emotion let it all out by her tears. "Go to him," she gently whispers.

Christine brushed Meg's jet-black hair by her delicate hands, the young woman was visibly distraught and her tears didn't mind to stop. After many consolations, Meg indicates to nod at her, "You're right," she broke the warmth embrace, eyeing her friend earnestly, "What about you? Aren't you coming?"

"I'll catch up later. Besides, he's _your_ boyfriend; he needs you there more than anyone else and Today's Friday, another day of Mr. Grouchy-pants to humiliate me. I would willingly not show up in his class and visit Anton, but the yesterday's case does make me his number one target for revenge." She laughed in raspy humor. Christine gave her another sisterly embrace before Meg tearfully thanked her and descended downstairs.

Meg waved her hand up, signaling her goodbye and scurried off.

Christine sighed with a smile, and then turning around to face the dreaded door, the frowned returned. _Breathe in, Breathe out, -good, everything is fine, that's what Meg said, some of us have worst timing, think of Anton!_

She firmly holds the knob, _Maybe I shouldn't have come here_. She shook her head, _No, stupid! You need to pass his requirements for you to graduate!_

Christine's lips turned to a firm line, _you are a Dubois! You can do it_. She hesitated on turning the knob, _you are a Du-_ \- "As much I like to stare at your lovely ass, I'm late and open the goddamned door already!"

Shock, she whipped her head and turned to face the perverted creep, "Joseph." she lazily regarded.

"Darling Christine" he smirked, showing off his malicious teeth and disgusting eyes that could undress you inside his perverse mind. Christine did not return a smile, instead she opened the door without looking inside and gestured him to go first. "Uh-uh," he waggle his index finger at her, "Ladies first."

Christine rolled her eyes. He's no gentleman, _and I'm not that stupid to believe you_. She didn't want to stay longer and with him, so she entered first and not long before she felt a mild pinch on the back of her skirt, her buttocks! Immediately, she jerked her head; sending him daggers with her ferocious eyes, and her right hand had already plunge to his way and aimed towards his repulsive face, earning a loud, crisp, deserving _**slap**_!

"Bitch!" the perverted leech hissed while cupping his reddening face, from the strong force or sheer embarrassment. Christine shouldn't have to retort to his unworthy verbiage but the need to slap him cross her mind again. She stepped further to where he was and raised her hands, forming it to a clenched fist. "Wha-" He couldn't even register what was going to happen and the last thing he felt was the disconnection of his nose.

Christine turned her back on him, brushing off unnoticeable particles on her shirt and walk as if nothing happened. However, it did occur at the very entrance and students hanging by the hall had seen it all. Once again, their eyes fixed on hers, like a prey takes its victim.

She eyed them without any indication that she gives a damn about them, Joseph Buquet and his now broken nose.

Christine would have gauged their eyes out with her ballpoint if she wasn't in her formal shirt. _That would be bloody and icky; it'll be hard to wash them..._

Clutching her shoulder bag, she walked with bravado and not a crap she can donate to those jerks. _Let them stare_! The throbbing ache on her knuckles, the hand she mightily struck Buquet, was now retaliating her actions -still, she did not regret. She hasn't punched a guy like that since her 5th grade. The last was Lawrence Frodival, a typical bully who would pull your hair, call you absurd names and steal your lunch; well, he got what he deserves, a knuckle sandwich from a furious, little Christine. Now, Joseph got the slot next to him.

She turned to another path on the left. Only a few more steps and doors to reach the cursed room of her always-scowling Professor.

 _She's the one who questioned Mr. Yllet..._

 _Really? She got some guts..._

 _After that the guy practically shoved everyone out of his room and barricaded himself..._

 _Yeah?_

 _Yeah._

 _Wayne said that she works for the CIA..._

 _No, her parents worked for the CIA, dumbass..._

 _No! Jessica informed me that she used to sing on Broadway..._

 _Others said that she had already graduated and she was force to study again because of some case she didn't solve..._

 _Macy said she's to be betroth to some aristocrat..._

 _Really?_

 _I think it's the De Chentelle guy.._

 _The counsellor?! Philippe?! Dude, he's twice her age..._

 _The younger De Chentelle, stupid!_

 _Oh! Ramon-oh wait... was it Ramin? Ralph?_

 _Raoul! The hot guy from Room 324?!_

 _Oh yeah!_

 _How do you know all of this?_

 _Well you know Jenifer right? Then her cousin's best friend who knew this guy named Matt then who had this girlfriend then that girl used to date Mason, that turns out to be..._

Christine huffed in irritation, if they're going to gossip around, they should really tell the accuracy, but the gossipers' highest rule was; tell **not** the truth. _Yelling at them wouldn't do anything Christine, It wouldn't stop global warming_ , and she sighed and walked faster until she couldn't hear their loud mouths on thin air. They weren't all true, just thinking about being engage to Raoul sent shudders down her spine. It's not that she didn't like Raoul, that's the case; she liked him like how a sister likes a bothersome brother. She can easily bring to mind when they were very young, they used to flick their boogers to each other, _isn't that sweet_? Christine chuckled visibly, adding more of the indescribable stares, convicting her every actions.

Although, the idea of her on Broadway was very much approve by her...

Just three more doors to pass by, _and welcome to hell_. Christine practiced her words and her heart felt heavy when the thought of apologizing. She honestly doesn't know her error on her part, she just wanted to voice out her opinion, _isn't that what Law's about?_

 _You naive girl, you questioned him, you exactly stood up your pathetic ass in the middle of his lecture, in front of his students and that little voice of yours actually argued with him. You deserve all this treatment._

 _Hey! You're the one who told me to say them..._

 _Yeah but not out loud!_

 _I can't stand him disparaging everyone - like what's his problem? He's been denigrating mankind; doesn't he know he is a bit part of it?_

Christine certainly thought that she was going mad. Talking to her- arguing with her inner voice that was the antonym of her psyche. She couldn't be the blame, could she? She did correct him. At what cost? Losing her diploma or the guilt that was engulfing her?

Yes, guilt. She had known its presence once the words flew her mouth in the midst of their argument. Her professor, Mr. Yllet, was a very enigmatic man, perhaps too enigmatic, giving point to his surgical mask on the right side of his face. Many had the notion that it was a serious accident that made him to cover the consequence, others said it was acid. Maybe that's the main reason of his unwieldy antipathy of people-the mocking and pity. She would probably too if people were judgmental... _-Scratch that, people are judgmental-._ But not all deserve to his hate, there are innocents that are victims of enmity and poor judgments.

 _Should I apol-_

She was now here.

She could feel the hollow presence surrounding the large door. Her wobbly hands were making it hard for her to simply hold the handle, _its okay Christine, just open the door and be done with it,_ she pushed it open. Steady gaze, she looked around and saw none of her schoolmates.

The room was secluded. Raising her eyebrows if she weren't seeing right, _Where are they_? She looks at her wristwatch, _9:02 I'm not that late_ , popping her head up by the door frame, scanning the area. 9:05 was her class schedule and everybody would come in before the actual time, Professor Yllet made a great deal of punctuality, those who happens to offend it find themselves writing 8 papers, back to back, explaining the tardiness, even if it's a one minute late (She suffered it before, not suffering it again)

 _Huh, that's odd_. He never dismisses his class...

Unless it's about the tragedy yesterday?

The guilt returned, only now she carried it like a piggyback ride, but she was not entirely happy.

 _Might as well transfer to a university and accept the title of 'Pervert Clobber' and 'Loud Mouth'_. Christine was about to close the door, a sudden cold voice grabbed her attention.

It was arousing considering he'd just called her surname with a tincture of sweltering command.

She once listened to his lecture albeit not putting her mind into it because she was deeply listening to his rich voice. Her chin was resting on her palm and the dreamy look in her face caught his attention and she received 5 papers of explanation of slacking off and a lifelong guarantee of embarrassment.

"Are you only going to stand there, Miss Dubois?"

She snapped her attention and little red flecks covered her face. She stepped inside the dim lighted room before closing the door behind her.

Christine followed the enticing voice to where it led. All the while she was walking, she can't help but to be frightened and confound to what might be the outcome of this. _Darn me and my repugnant nature_. She was somewhere on the rows of chairs, then on the very front of the board to where he would stand up and lecture them. _Wow, there are many,_ _ **many**_ _students' chairs and only him and his voice to dominate everyone to listen, I feel so stupid_. She was dumbstruck as she thought of yesterday; her on the back row on the right side, suddenly standing up and rectifying him the importance of honor and goodness, while they surely gaped at her. And _him_ staring at her, without any hint of emotion.

She shivered at remembering his fierce eyes digging through her soul. She continues to walk further only to stop when her eyes caught the sight of his large table and a strong silhouette-his strong silhouette- from the farthest corner where no lighting could be detected. Her heart thundered.

"Closer," his voice beckoned. Not a dip of emotion.

She struggled for calm breathing before resuming her staggering march.

 _Its fine Christine, You and him are the only people here. He's not going to kill you because of what happened_ , she nervously laughed minus the tone, _Or will he?_

"Honestly, Miss Dubois, I'm not going to eat you alive. I only wanted to have a diplomatic conversation with you."

 **Oh**.

Christine strides to his desk and stopping before she clash on to it. She could see his faint outline beyond the dark and his presence that still gave her shivers. Christine joined her hands behind her back; she almost looked like a young child being disciplined to behave. _I've been very bad indeed._

"Uh," the words she'd wanted to say suddenly left her. _Speak you fool! You initiated it! You've been practicing this!_ But alas, her mouth could only open then close.

His scorching stare made her invisibly trembled. Those amber eyes thoroughly searching the windows of her orbs, searching her. Deciphering her. _Don't look at him dammit!_

Finding solace on the tiles of the floor, Christine nibbled her lower lip and demanding her words to come back. It seems neither of them didn't want to speak. How ironic that the silence was purely deafening her. _Have courage and be kind_ , she'd giggle for the choice of words to motivate her if she weren't just so serious about all of this. "S-Sir," Her lungs could have given up for her massive inhalant, "I am well comprehended of my actions concerning the feud yesterday and I... -I wish to apologize for my ill manner of the way I interrupted you on your lecture, but..." _No backing out now_ , "-But I do not solely regret voicing my opinion. Little they may be."

"Ah, yes." He clasped his hands and settled them on his table; "Yesterday." his voice tickled her ears. After seconds of silence, "Are you aware of the punishment?"

She gulped despite her throat being dried, "Y-Yes. And I take full responsibility of my impromptu doings."

Is he smirking? The light traces of his lips tugs upward, impossible! He only smiles when certain utterances of music he seldom discuss, were to be a topic, his grin would practically light up the whole room, earning wide eyed shock. And now he's doing it.

Is he that so sadistic that he really wants to see her suffer from her punishment?

 **Oh god.** There are no other people here and she's absolutely terrified of _that_ kind of punishment! In her first year, sorority girls would blabber on about their nightly tryst to gain higher grades. Christine was clearly disgusted at their indiscretions and she will certainly be disgusted at herself. She looked to her left and to her right. No one! She regretted to close the door.

"You must be wondering to where are the rest of your colleagues, I've group them and sent them to a mock trial. You see, before all of you can graduate, I'll shall give you all a task to prove you are worthy of graduating and deserving to serve the law. But with your impertinence, I didn't conclude you to participate with them."

She blinked. **This** was the punishment? She couldn't graduate? Tears were forming and she refused to spill them in front of him. Reality is harsh. She couldn't speak, she didn't want to speak. This was worse than having sex with your professor! All these years of working on night shifts so she could pay her college tuition fees, and keeping her mind to stay awake during classes for FIVE years only for nothing?! She wanted to punch everything in her way.

She wanted to punch him and herself.

"-hear me?"

She shook her head. Erasing the dark thoughts inside her mind. She must have paid any attention to him. Why would she? She already failed his class.

"Are you listening?" his frustrated voice slapped her back to normalcy.

"I'm sorry." She scolded herself for sounding so meek.

He sighed gruffly. He would have to say it all over again, "Miss Dubois, now that I've gain your presence of mind. You're punishment is to work on this task-"

"WAIT. I'll still have to do the task? You mean that I'll still graduate?!"

"That depends on if you do it right. Now where was I? - You see there? That insolent habit of yours of cutting me off is quite vexatious. Ah, the task. You are to present me a PowerPoint of a certain story, describe the theme; moral values, character development and recite their 'goodness' you speak highly of every person." The last sentence was surely a very sarcastic remark to remember the events of yesterday.

Christine couldn't help but to stare incredulously at her ever so confusing professor. "That's my punishment? You're not _that_ angry at me?"

"You are to do this alone and without any help, you'll find it ever so wearisome." his eyes scanned hers, "Angry? Oh no, where's the fun in that? I simply find you fascinating."

"What." Not even a question. Christine should've argue with him but remained dumbfounded, _Fascinating?_ _ **ME**_ _?_ , his face was dead serious, _is he kidding himself? Just look at me!_ Sure she was extremely relieved to know that the very cold and bitter professor of the whole university actually deems her of fascination. _Is he even talking about me?_

"From the sound of your voice I take it you're surprise. The uttermost festivity of yesterday rendered me in awe by your brazen valor. I wouldn't tolerate a mere student doltishly cutting me off and lecturing me in front of _my_ class, I will severely punish those who oppose me. But I was wrong; you're not just a mere student. You're a haughty, naïf, blunt student. And I admire you for that. An exceedingly rarity on my part; Surprise doesn't even cover It." she imagined him smiling, like he did earlier. A smile where there's no pain and darkness residing in them. He looks so handsome, mask and all.

Christine haven't enough time to see him quietly striding in front of her, just few paces, but modest enough to give her own personal space. "You entirely remind me of Scout." His voice was close and almost a whisper. _Scout? Who's Scou_ \- The cold feel of leather brushed against her hands?

Christine's face was redder than Buquet's nose.

 _He's holding my hand!_ Well, actually he's holding a book and he wanted her to take it. His gloved hands beckoned hers to accept the book-to which she did-and Christine smelled the scent of roses. _He smells wonderful_... Christine fumbled for the paperback and was about to ask when his balmy voice spoke again, "To Kill a Mockingbird." _He even sound so unworldly refine when near. It should be illegal._ "You have, perchance, read it?"

"I've known it but I haven't read it. Sorry." she hung her head, feeling shameful. She was a law student and she hasn't read the renowned book that law student should have read. It was an assignment for them when she was in her freshman year, to read the novel and make a critical analysis. Having no time because of her part-time job as a waitress by night, she guiltily copied Meg's and since then, she couldn't look at Professor Firmin's eyes without any improbity.

As if reading her thoughts, her professor shrugged nonchalantly, "Just don't copy from now, and understand? It is absolutely wrong to plagiarize. Think of the effort and idea of the maker only to steal it by some lazy individual. As a future lawyer; always tell the truth. Even though some people mock their profession, making it a constant reminder that all those who serve the law are liars. Frankly, some are and others aren't. And I can sense a quality in you that most people don't posses. Even _I_ don't posses." He inwardly smiled so assuredly that Christine might have melted.

His words had done it. She no longer thought of him as Mr. Grouchy-Pants. Somehow there is goodness inside of him as she expected. Christine would likely ask the quality he'd said about her, but deciding it will be a subject for another day. She was sure they'll talk like this; not as a student/teacher parlance, but a connection of two adults discussing the values of life. Christine hugged the book on her chest with her two arms, guarding it like a rare blue diamond. She uttered an airy thank you and he nodded absentmindedly.

Christine slowly walked off and can't help the feeling of discontented.

Did she actually like talking to him? She remembered the coolness of his stance and his unfaltering voice. All the anger had gone-Now that she thinks of it, she never did resent him. Even for all those demanding projects and his harsh lectures, she didn't hate him like the way students should hate a finicky teacher. The days when she was in his class, she could only feel a certain respect and compassion for his distant self.

"One thing, Miss Dubois," she abruptly stopped upon hearing him. She was near by the door. She squinted her eyes and saw his silhouette now by his table, leaning and a hand on his hair. "I've heard you punched Buquet."

"News does travel so fast," she muttered under gritted teeth, "Yes I did and I'm not apologizing for that, Mr. Yllet."

His laughter boomed the large room and Christine thought that it's most definitely an angel's bells turned into a sacred voice. He's ever so confusingly surprising, "Nor do I have to do anything about him. I must say well done. Apparently your boldness is not only capable of your mouth but also to your fist."

Christine took that as an undetermined compliment.

She tilted her head sideways, "Thanks?"

The cold, metallic handle of the large door caught her unawares as her mind wasn't focused around her. She visibly shivered and opened the door; the thought of him alone crossed her mind. It is utterly sad to be alone. She looked at her shoulder, then to him. His glowing eyes indicated that he's looking at her, just as she was looking at him.

"Mr. Yllet? I-"

"Erik." He softly interjected.

His name. _He wanted me to call him by his name,_ "Erik," _it felt gratifying_ , "I promise, I won't fail you for giving me this chance."

"I know, Miss D-"

"Christine."

She knew that he smiled for the whole room seems lighter. " _Christine_ , I know you won't."

* * *

 **UNKNOWNYMUSE:**

 **THEY MAY BE A LITTLE BIT OOC.**

 **IT'S BECAUSE I WANT THEM TO BE ADAPTABLE IN OUR OWN MODERN SOCIETY.**

 **IN LEROUX'S BOOK: CHRISTINE IS NAIVE, INNOCENT, AND TERRIFIED AND HAS AN IMMENSE PITY FOR ERIK. SHE'S NOT THE CORROSIVE TYPE TO PUNCH BUQUET. BUT I WANT HER TO SOMEHOW RELATE US IN OUR ACTIONS.**

 **IN THE MUSICAL: CHRISTINE IS STILL NAIVE, SCARED, YET SHE FEELS COMPASSION FOR ERIK.**

 **AND IN KAY'S BOOK: WE ALL KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THEM ;) I THINK MISS KAY WAS A PHAN SHIPPER.**

 **IN EVERY CHAPTER, I WANT HER TO PORTRAY THE HUMAN EMOTIONS OF DEALING ALL THE CHALLENGES LIFE CAN OFFER.**

 **I DON'T WANT HER TO WALLOW IN SORROW AND THEN CHOOSING TO RUNAWAY WITH RAOUL. (** **READ THE BOOK IF YOU DIDN'T GET IT** **)**

 **AND I VERY MUCH WANTED HER TO LOVE POOR ERIK! WE SHIPPERS ALWAYS FIND MANY WAYS FOR THEM TO FALL IN LOVE (MOSTLY ON CHRISTINE'S PART) IT'S CALLED FANFICTION FOR CHRIST SAKE! SO DON'T ARGUE WITH ME BECAUSE OF HER UNLIKELY ATTITUDE. I DON'T PREFER HER TO BE WEAK AND KILL HERSELF BECAUSE OF ERIK'S UTMOST LOVE FOR HER (** **READ THE BOOK!** **)**

 **FOR ME, I WILL EVERYDAY CHOOSE THE SCORPION.**


End file.
